All This Time
by booksmartblonde333
Summary: Song fic one-shot. Twenty years is a long time and this reunion has been a long time coming.


_Six on the second hand till new year's resolutions_

_There's just no question what this man should do_

_Take all the time lost, all the days that I cost_

_Take what I took and give it back to you_

Ah, New York at New Years. So alive... So bright…

So nauseating.

All Max could see were the smiles of happy couples warm in each other's arms, all just so _satisfied_ as she walked through the masses in Time's Square.

If she sounds bitter, then screw it. She's been bitter long enough for people to get a friggin' clue. Hell, she's been bitter for the last… what? Twenty years?

She has every reason to be bitter about the hand Life dealt her. She's been experimented on, shot, kicked, punched… but nothing could compare to the _nothingness_ in her chest that she carried everywhere she went. The space that came after it happened.

The space that had long since been vacated and left to remain empty.

Sure, she had tried to fill it. With everything from new love to happiness. But the only thing that seemed to even temper the emptiness was letting herself wallow in it. It was the only thing she could feel anymore.

Of course no one knew that. Not her mom, not her sister, not even her flock. She had to constantly placate them with false smiles and bogus laughter. Always the protector and supporter, never the inverse. And she had dutifully kept it that way for twenty years. She couldn't let them know. Definitely not then and no way in hell was she gonna tell 'em now.

They were, after all, out leading their own lives and she didn't want to interrupt that.

Iggy and Gazzy were in Texas helping the government with their weapons research. Basically, they were paid to build their favorite toys in the whole world and watch them blow. Dream job or what?

Dylan was in Chicago. Not too sure what was going on there, but she really couldn't bring herself to care about her so-called other half. He had finally gotten over his little fixation on her and moved on. They had an extremely brief relationship three years after it happened. Suffice to say it didn't work out.

Max wasn't entirely certain where Angel was exactly. She called and checked in every week, as she had promised, but she was never in the same area long. Always roaming. Used to be that that would worry Max to no end. Angel was her baby. The one she practically raised herself.

No longer though. Angel was a twenty-seven year old with a defiant stance and stubbornness that rivaled her own. She always did have a problem with rules.

Nudge was the closest in area. She was in New York ringing in the New Year with Max, taking a break from running her modeling agency (which she opened after retiring from being one herself) in L.A.

What is Max doing you ask? She's attempting to enjoy the satisfaction of saving the friggin' world and not allowing that lovely emptiness to swallow her whole. At least while the world was ending she had something to preoccupy her mind and her hands.

She could just not think while the apocalypse was upon them and run pretty much on default butt-kicking Max. Silently-dying-inside Max was stomped down, buried deep underground, and had a four story mall built over top while time allowed.

No one ever questioned it. Well, maybe a little right after it happened but she soon put on her I'm-friggin'-fine-so-don't-ask-me-if-I'm-fine-or-I'll-beat-you-to-death face and it abruptly stopped. Even Iggy knew when that face was on, he could feel it.

The ball was beginning its decent and Nudge was probably not going to be happy ringing in the New Year alone but she just couldn't pretend. Not tonight; not on this New Years.

God she missed him.

She reaches up and fingers the birthstone ring that he gave her and leans against a building nearby. She had to put it on a chain for practicality but never, ever did she take it off. The metal of the band and the stone itself had worn smooth by countless touches. Whenever she was pensive or worried she'd start to fiddle with it. She'd worry it especially when she began to think of him. She closes her eyes and lets the memories wash over her and fill her up.

Whenever she'd start this montage of memories it always played out the same.

First were all her childhood memories with him. The jokes and early morning wake up calls. Then the God-awful attempts at making edible food. Next when he was injured on the beach and she told him he looked like a kitty cat and then kissed him.

Then came the other kisses. The short ones. The long ones. The first to the last. Every single one briefly flashed in her mind as the ball continued its fall.

These were the memories she counted on to continue through life. The ones she clung to like a life raft in an infinitely empty ocean.

Sanctuary.

This was her sanctuary. These precious memories that, if they were tangible, would be soft and worn from use like a favorite pair of blue jeans.

If she really concentrated she could smell that smell that was him. Clean and warm. Sort of like fresh laundry when it was just out of the dryer.

Come to think of it, that's how his arms felt around her. Like a big sweatshirt or a blanket straight out of the dryer; warming her from the outside to her already warm insides.

Hell, his mere presence did that.

Max doesn't notice the cheering or even the rest of the world. She's still in her own private sanctuary as the couples kiss each other for luck and embrace the New Year.

More importantly, she feels the moment that's coming. And it's been twenty years in the making.

For the first time in twenty years, Max feels a glimmer of hope.

_All this time we were waiting for each other_

_All this time I was waiting for you_

_We got all these words, can't waste them on another_

_So I'm straight in a straight line running back to you_

_I don't know what day it is, I had to check the paper_

_I don't know the city but it isn't home_

_You say I'm lucky to love something that loves me_

_But I'm torn as I could be wherever I roam_

He's really not too certain where he is. Yeah, he knows he's got his trusty built in GPS system courtesy of that little two percent of bird DNA but he's just not sure if he's in Arizona or New Mexico and its really starting to bug him. Damn deserts and their endless nothingness and rock formations that all look _exactly_ alike. They never failed to screw with his head and he _really_ need to get back on track.

Prior to this little setback, he was finally headed north from Mexico toward his home. Toward her.

Or at least where he desperately hoped she'd be if he hadn't totally ruined everything when he left.

God he missed her.

He missed her smell. Her eyes. Her laugh. Hell, he missed her threatening to beat the ever loving crap out of him when he pissed her off.

He wonders what she's been up to. She saved the world (he didn't doubt for a second that she wouldn't be able to do it) and then had basically dropped off the face of the earth. When the world was in peril he could at least find her in a paper or online; see her, know where she was, know that she was safe. But once it was all over, she'd become absolutely _impossible_ to find. He'd scan the news for any sign of his favorite bird girl everyday but she seemed to always be just out of range of any cameras in the area. Either that or she'd find the creep that was snapping pictures of her and threaten the guy until he started crying and swore to never take another picture of her again.

He was guessing the second one. She always did get more done when she added a little violence.

Come to think of it, that's how he got most of his stuff done too. Down in Mexico, where he was shutting down labs much like his own oft despised School, he was known by the locals as "Ángel de la Muerte" or Angel of Death.

No, seriously.

And he didn't get the name for planting flowers and asking nicely. He wasn't exactly O.K. with his reputation as the harbinger of death but it got things done. We all have our crosses to bear and he's no exception. He still has nightmares about the things he's done and to the people he's done them to, but damn it, he was on the clock to make it count. To get it done.

And he desperately needed to get _something_ done because he if didn't, it would mean he had spent twenty years away from the only person that could set his world back into balance and turn the world Technicolor. It had to have been worth it, he wouldn't allow anything less.

He began to unconsciously rub the inside of his right wrist. There, just below the bone, was a tattooed depiction of a hawk in flight.

He'd gotten it the day he left them. Left her. He'd cashed in the gift certificate she'd gotten all of them on that group birthday. It was such a Max gift; easy but valuable and just plain awesome. He had gotten one more in addition to the hawk, tribal art on his left shoulder, but it didn't hold as much sentimentality as the hawk did. Hawks had always sort of been a soft spot for him and Max.

Max.

He didn't often think her name, let alone say it. Not since the last day, at least.

That day was the hardest and most painful day of his life. And he'd been shot.

To know that he was leaving behind the most important person on the planet to him was worse than any torture the School could ever cook up for him.

He'd left behind his heart and soul that day and it just tore him apart more and more as he kept getting farther and farther away from the beautiful girl with big brown eyes.

Dear God, her eyes. Twin pools of warm chocolate that could bring him to his knees if she used them correctly.

A sudden thought hit him as he finally figured out he was in Wyoming and had passed out of Arizona/New Mexico. Those large brown orbs (and the girl they were attached to) would be soon standing in front of him for the first time in twenty years.

After he _left_ her. With nothing but a letter.

God help him, she's _so_ going to kick his ass.

_All this time we were waiting for each other_

_All this time I was waiting for you_

_Got all these words, can't waste them on another_

_So I'm straight in a straight line running back to you, yeah_

_Oh, running back to you_

_Oh, running back to you_

_Yeah_

She made it to the cliff first.

It hadn't changed much in the many years since she'd been standing where she was now; same view, same lake below. The hawks were even still there. Not the same ones, of course, but they still gave her that exact same awestruck feeling she got when she had seen them for the first time. They still stunned her into silence with their unparalleled grace and precision.

She owed them and their technique her life many times over. Those moves had saved her ass countless times over the course of her life. All the battles, all the near deaths… She was truly lucky to be alive. She sat down at the cliff's edge and basked in the warm light from the sun as she watched her feathered comrades above.

_But what is life if you're not happy? _She wondered. What was the point? She'd fulfilled her purpose here; saving the universe and all that jazz. So why was she still here trying to… do what exactly?

She'd had this argument with herself many times over and had always come up with one reason not to let go completely; the promise she'd made herself.

She would not give in or let go until she had seen Fang again.

That promise alone had kept her fighting to stay when she had what should be a mortal wound. When she shouldn't have been able to get up off the ground and demolish the enemy.

That promise brought her back from the dead many, many times.

She knows that what she's been thinking is cowardly and wrong. That giving up on yourself is just asking for bad karma, but she's just been so _lost_ for so, _so_ long. Before, he had always been there to keep her in check; never letting her fly too far off base. He kept her grounded and kept her where she should be.

A big part of her was scared to see him again.

What if he was different? What if he wasn't the guy she remembered? Well that's a stupid thought. Of course he's not the same! She definitely isn't the same girl he'd left behind. She hasn't known that girl for a long time.

Max suddenly had an awful thought.

What if he didn't show up at all?

_Oh, I would travel so far_

_I would travel so far_

_To get back where you are_

He got here first, just as the sun was coming up.

What? He wanted to get there before her.

He quickly found his plan was slightly flawed, because hello? It was Max he was meeting. There was no way in hell she was going to get up, let alone be here before noon.

Fan sighed, made his was to a slightly shaded spot away from the cliff's edge, and settled in for the wait. He had had a long flight and thought it a good idea to catch a few Z's before seeing Max again.

* * *

He didn't even need his eyes to know she was there, something inside him just lit up and he knew.

It was much later in the day than when he first sat down in his slighted shaded little corner; he was completely submersed in the shadows.

From where he was sitting he could see her in all he Max-y glory. She was sitting with her left side to him, letting her jean clad legs dangle over the edge while she rested on the heels of her hands; eyes closed. Her hair was lighter again, the last time he'd seen her it was nearly all brown. The wind was blowing it ever so slightly, and it was making her look every bit of the goddess she must have been in another life.

She was glowing in the warm sunlight that was hitting the tanned skin of her arms and face exposed by her red tank top; her large, beautiful wings fanned out around her.

Fang couldn't for the life of him remember how to use his lungs.

Max was in front of him. Max. _His_ Max.

That is if she's still interested. Twenty years is a long time and he couldn't, and wouldn't, blame her if she had moved on, even if it would probably destroy him.

If that were the case he was going to allot himself a few more minutes of memorizing the scene in front of him. He's pretty sure this image will be the last thing that flashes before his eyes when he dies. God willing, it'll be the only thing. He'd prefer to die happy and at peace, thank you very much. This image is as close as he'll probably ever get to seeing a real angel anyway, especially with the amount of blood on his hands.

He wasn't exactly known for his mercy down in Mexico, more like his temper.

It was like, once Max wasn't there anymore he'd lost his sense of self control; that calm cool and collected thing he perfected as a child. He just didn't care and it'd be one of those things that would plague him for the rest of his life. He was so much darker now.

Fang let his signature smirk cross his face. Him? Dark? Never.

He even almost chuckled how their circumstances mirrored their positioning on this cliff. Her in radiant sunlight. Him in deep shadows.

He let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding and cleared his throat as to alert her to his presence.

It was now or never.

* * *

Max froze. She wasn't alone.

She whipped her head to the left and peered into the shadows looking for the source of the sound. There, in the darkest part of the shadow, was an outline of a person. Max stood up; her stance relaxed, yet ready to kick ass should she need to.

The figure chuckled and shook its head. Her heart skipped a beat; she'd know that slightly husky laugh anywhere.

He stepped into the sunlight. He'd grown some, an inch or two maybe. His skin was a deep olive color and coved strong, well-defined muscles in his arms. She could make out a tribal tattoo on his left shoulder and something on his right wrist. She'd wondered when he'd gotten those and what the stories were behind them.

Of course he was clad in all black: boots, dark jeans, and a sleeveless t-shirt. Her eyes drifted up, finally, to his face. The perfect hair was still in place, if a little longer. She took a few steps closer and scanned his gorgeous face. A face that had been too long out of sight.

She drank in his features. His mouth, which had his heart-stopping smirk on it; his cheek bones, his nose. And finally his eyes.

Sweet Jesus, mother of God how she'd missed looking into those eyes. The ones that could look deep inside her and into her very soul. Those eyes drew her closer and closer until she was close enough to see every single fleck of color in them. By then she couldn't help herself. She physically needed to touch him, to hold him, to kiss him.

Apparently, he had the same need because they grabbed for each other at the same time.

The moment their skin touched Max could feel a bolt of electricity fly through her veins shoot out her toes. After that not kissing him wasn't an option.

* * *

This was actually happening. He had Max in his arms and she was kissing him. He highly doubted Heaven could be much better than this.

She tasted just like he remembered. Sweet, spicy, and explosive all at once. Her lips soft and forceful against his own.

He could smell her too. That smell that was just Max; somewhere in between rain and how the air smelled just before lightning stuck. He could practically feel said lightning looping between them; its current endlessly circling trough and around them.

When they finally did break apart for air he pressed his forehead against hers and stayed there.

He couldn't tell you how long they stayed that way; pressed flush against each other with their fingers laced together, palm to palm. God this felt good.

Suddenly Max took a stepped back, breaking the connection; sighed a breathy little sigh, and looked at him.

Then slapped him so hard he's sure he'll still be able to feel the sting fifty years from now, provided she lets him live that long.

* * *

She knows why she smacked his beautiful face. He knows why she smacked his face. What she doesn't know is what she's feeling.

The slap was necessary. You don't leave a girl for twenty years and then expect every thing to be okay. It won't be. It won't be for probably quite some time. She knows this.

So what is she feeling? Why does she suddenly feel like giggling like she was fifteen again?

Then it hits her. The emptiness isn't there anymore. Poof. Those thoughts of giving in? Poof too. It's like all she can feel is this deliriously delicious feeling that's swimming through her and its making her want to just kiss Fang until she can't remember her own name anymore.

What's that called again? Oh, right. Happiness. Or love. Or joy. Or a hundred other good things that she hasn't felt in so long that she's forgotten their names. She's grinning like an idiot and Fang is looking slightly confused in his own Fang-y way.

She steps closer again and he gets an even more wary look on his face. Her grin grows into a full blown smile as she wraps her arms around his middle.

* * *

He sighs in relief when he realizes that she isn't going to smack him again. Not right now at least.

She's still got that goofy, happy smile on her face as she looks up at him and rests her chin on his chest. He knows they have so much to talk about and that they are going to talk about everything eventually but not right now. For right now it can wait. After all this time, the pain, and the grief, and the insanity that is and will always be their existence can take a back seat for right now.

She sighs contentedly in his arms.

"Hi." He smiles and it gets bigger when he hears her breath catch.

"Hi."

_All this time we were waiting for each other_

_All this time I was waiting for you_

_Got all this love, can't waste it on another_

_So I'm straight in a straight line running back to you_

_Straight in a straight line running back to you_

_Straight in a straight line running back to you_

_Straight in a straight line running back to you_


End file.
